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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30028368">Free as the Birds</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/pseuds/AstroGirl'>AstroGirl</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Conversation, Ducks, Flying, M/M, post-notpocalypse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:41:57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,719</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30028368</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/pseuds/AstroGirl</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A conversation about birds.  Well, mostly about birds.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Trope Bingo: Round Sixteen</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Free as the Birds</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Trope Bingo, for the prompt "Seinfeldian Conversation," which Trope Bingo helpfully defines as "idle, pointless conversation."  I think I might possibly have failed at writing that, though.  It figures.  When I'm actually <i>trying</i> to take the characters somewhere important, it can be difficult to keep them from veering off into weird, pointless tangents. But try to write them a conversation composed entirely of weird, pointless tangents, and suddenly they actually want to go somewhere, after all.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It occurs to Crowley, not for the first time, that there really isn't any point to the two of them sitting on this park bench anymore.  After all, they no longer have to worry about being caught together in the bookshop, or in Crowley's flat, or anywhere else.  </p><p>As usual, he carefully refrains from voicing the thought, lest Aziraphale agree with him and suggest they stop.  Instead, he reaches into the bag between them, extracts a single morsel of bread, and pitches it with unerring demonic aim directly between two neighboring ducks.  The resulting squabble is intense, but gratifying.</p><p>He decides to try pitting the winning duck against another opponent.  He could set up a tournament of sorts.  Duck vs. duck, winner takes all?  Maybe that one over there can be the next challenger.  He's not exactly sure how to tell with ducks, but it looks like it might have the kind of gleam in its eye that, in a human, basically serves as a lit-up sign saying "Please Tempt Me to the Sin of Wrath."</p><p>But first he needs to maneuver the two ducks closer together.  Easy enough.  He reaches for the bag again...</p><p>And finds it gone.  Gathered up into the hands of an angel.  Even as the first strangled sound of protest leaves his lips, the bread is already flying outward from those angelic hands to scatter liberally and evenly across the surface of the pond, which instantly becomes filled with ducks feeding calmly in perfect harmony.  Even Wrathful Duck, that traitor.</p><p>Crowley doesn't pout, because pouting is not something demons do, even retired demons.  But he might possibly do something an uninformed observer could mistake for pouting.</p><p>"Sorry," says Aziraphale, not sounding sorry at all.  More sort of slyly amused, really.  "Just because we're on the same side now, that doesn't mean I can't still enjoy thwarting your wiles."</p><p>Well.  He can't keep pouting after that.  "Doesn't mean I don't still enjoy wiling," he says, by way of agreement.</p><p>The smile at each other for a moment, and it's...  All right, it's nice.  But he can't let the Forces of Niceness win, can he?  It's simply not in his nature.  "Joke's on you, though," he says.  "Bread is terrible for ducks.  Which makes you my unwitting ally in my duck-wiling."</p><p>"This bread isn't," says Aziraphale.  "It's healthy and delicious.  I miracled it that way myself."</p><p>Crowley believes him, as far as the statement goes, but he does wonder if it was true ten seconds ago.  He didn't feel a bread-altering miracle just now, but he might have failed to notice one that small, especially while distracted by a bit of gloating.  "Spoilsport," he says.</p><p>"Anyway, how do you know bread is bad for them?  Who told you that?"</p><p>Crowley shrugs.  "Some human.  Saw me doing it once and gave me a hard time about it.  So I gave him an unscratchable itch. Right..."  He twists around.  Even for him, with his extra-snaky spine, that particular spot on his back is hard to reach.  "Right here.  Probably still has it."</p><p>He expects some holier-than-thou lecture about how inappropriate it is to curse people for caring about wildlife -- which, all right, <i>fine</i>, they can stop itching now, not that he'll tell Aziraphale -- but instead the angel says, "You were feeding the ducks without me?"</p><p>Shit.  Are they in a place now where he can admit to Aziraphale that sometimes when the angel had one of his fits of paranoia and insisted they not make contact for a while, Crowley would come here alone and imagine the conversation they might have if things were different?  Eh.  Maybe, maybe not, but it doesn't really matter, does it, because that's not ever going to be something he can just <i>say</i>.  So instead he shrugs.</p><p>"Oh."  Does Aziraphale actually look hurt by that?  Is that the look of someone thinking, "Oh, I thought this was <i>our</i> spot, but I suppose it isn't"?  Aargh.  </p><p>"Don't worry," Crowley says.  "I didn't start any duck wars.  Wouldn't have been any fun without you there to thwart it."  </p><p>Which maybe is close enough to what he couldn't say, after all.  Close enough to get a lovely angelic smile for him, anyway.  Which Crowley basks in for a while, until one of the ducks steals Aziraphale's attention by taking flight across the pond.  Crowley briefly considers giving it an itch between its wings, but decides not to bother.  After all, he's the one who will be leaving with Aziraphale, while the ducks have to stay here in the park, angel-less.  Which he's pretty sure makes him the winner.</p><p>"I do like watching birds in flight," says Aziraphale.  "You know, I've often wondered.  Did the Almighty make angels' wings and then decide She liked them so much She re-used them for the birds?  Or did she have birds in mind from the beginning, and used us as a sort of prototype?"</p><p>Crowley snorts.  "Don't ask me.  If I ever understood anything that went on in Her oh-so-ineffable mind, I probably wouldn't be..."  He waves a hand across himself, indicating his general demon-ness.</p><p>Aziraphale turns back to him.  "I'm sorry." This time he looks it.  His face has gone all soft and compassionate.  Crowley hates that expression.  Or loves it.  One of those two things.</p><p>"Don't be.  I'm not."</p><p>"All right, then."  His expression is still soft, but it's smiley-er now, so that's all right.  "You know, speaking of wings, I've always wondered... And if you don't want to answer, if it's too personal, that's perfectly all right, only--"</p><p>"Spit it out, angel."</p><p>"Were your wings always black?  I mean, Before.  Or did they change when..."  He makes a fluttery downward gesture that, mercifully, looks nothing whatsoever like Crowley's descent into Hell.</p><p>"Always black," he says.  It had been a somewhat unusual color in Heaven, in among all the whites and the pearl-grays and the showier iridescent hues of the archangels, but hardly unheard of.  "Can you imagine me with white wings?"</p><p>"To be honest, I can't really imagine you as an angel at all." </p><p>"I'll take that as a compliment."</p><p>"I'm sure you were a very wily angel."  There's that smile again.</p><p>"I was a self-righteous prick, like all the rest of 'em.  Didn't know any better, did I?"  Wait, that can't be the right way to phrase it.  "Or do I mean worse?"</p><p>"I could be inclined to take that personally."  But there is a twinkle in Aziraphale's eye.</p><p>"You never belonged there, either."  It comes out more serious than he intends it to.  Oh, no.  This is turning into a Moment.  He quickly looks away.  Think, think.  Say something else. What were they talking about before?  Wings?  Birds?  "Did you know humans think birds are related to reptiles?"</p><p>"What?"  Aziraphale seems a little confused by the shift in the conversation.  Or possibly by the statement.  "How?  By..."  His brow wrinkles, as if he's trying to solve some sort of logic puzzle.  "By marriage?"</p><p>Well, now that's two of them confused.  "By... what?  Angel, how is a reptile going to marry a bird?"</p><p>"I don't know!  How else can two things that aren't related be related?  It's the only possibility I could think of."</p><p>"By evolution," Crowley says.</p><p>"Oh.  <i>That</i>."</p><p>"Yep.  God's little joke."  One of them, anyway.</p><p>"I'm sure there was good reason for the deception.  Testing their faith, and so on."  Oh, heaven, Aziraphale's getting that pious toeing-the-party-line look on his face.  And here Crowley'd hoped he'd seen the last of that expression.</p><p>"Don't defend it angel.  That's not your job anymore."  He tries to say it gently.  A reminder, not a rebuke, because you have to be a little careful with this sort of thing, with Aziraphale.</p><p>"Oh.  Oh, yes.  I suppose it isn't."  He actually sounds a little relieved, which is nice to hear. </p><p>"So," says Crowley, trying to get back to the point, although can't quite remember now why it was a point he wanted to make in the first place, "according to human thinking, I'm more of a bird than you are."</p><p>"It's true that feathers and scales aren't mutually exclusive in your case.  Remember that time in...  Where was it?  South America?"</p><p>Crowley immediately knows what he's getting at.  "Teotihuacan.  Didn't expect <i>that</i> to go as far as it did."</p><p>"Really, Crowley.  When you appear to people as a serpent with wings, how do you expect them to react?"</p><p>"Ehhhh, you get drunk enough to confuse yourself about what shape you're meant to be <i>once</i>, and suddenly they're building ziggurats to you everywhere.  Never asked them to, did I?"</p><p>"Well, you did give them all that maize."</p><p>"I was trying to bribe them into not telling anyone! It was embarrassing."</p><p>"It was a very impressive piece of blasphemy.  A demon pretending to be a god!  Heaven was buzzing about it for centuries afterward."</p><p>"Ah, well, in that case, I totally meant to do it.  Ol' feathered serpent, that's me.  Hail Quetzalcoatl."</p><p>Aziraphale laughs.  "I shouldn't have told you.  I knew it would give you a big head."</p><p>"I don't have a big head. I have a very sleek head.  Like the handsome serpent I am."</p><p>Aziraphale laughs again.  Crowley has always liked the way the lines around his eyes crinkle up when he does that.  "A serpent that's very close to being a bird?"</p><p>"Yep.  Facts are facts, angel.  I'm just better at being birdy than you are."</p><p>"I wonder what sort of bird I would be, if I were a bird."  He looks like he's actually taking the question seriously, which is sort of hilarious.</p><p>"Dunno.  Is there a kind of bird that really likes to eat?"</p><p>"Most of them, I should think.  They do need it to stay alive.  Which reminds me."  He tosses the rest of the contents of his bag to the ducks, who once again dispose of it in an annoyingly peaceable fashion.</p><p>Oh, well.  If Crowley wants to sow more chaos amongst the waterfowl later, he can always miracle up some food of his own.  "Maybe a pelican," he says.  "That's the one with the big... big..."  He gestures around his face, outlining a ridiculously enlarged beak in the air in front of him, although for some reason he's blanking on the word.  "Mouth."</p><p>"Oh!"  Aziraphale's face is doing that lighting-up thing it does.  "Pelicans are lovely.  They draw their own blood, you know, to feed their young.  The epitome of selfless, loving sacrifice."  He sighs happily at the thought.</p><p>"No, they don't."</p><p>"Of course they do, Crowley.  Everyone knows that."</p><p>"Everyone knew that in the Middle Ages, angel.  Same as they knew bad smells caused the Plague."</p><p>"You're saying it's not true?"</p><p>"Yep.  Totally debunked.  Saw it on a nature show."</p><p>"So, the <i>humans</i> say it's not true."  There is a stubborn set to the angel's jaw now.  Crowley knows that look.  He's not going to let this go.</p><p>Well, two can play at that game.  "The humans are the ones who said it was true in the first place," he points out.</p><p>"There, you see?  You can't believe <i>them</i>.  They change their minds constantly.  And they think birds and snakes are related by marriage!"</p><p>"Not by marriage...  Aaargh."  Okay, fine.  He'll be the one to let it go.  Before it gets any stupider.  "Fine.  You can be a bloody self-sacrificing pelican."</p><p>"Oh.  Well."  Aziraphale looks like he's beginning to question why he wanted that in the first place, but still isn't backing down. "Good, then."</p><p>"Fine," says Crowley.</p><p>"Fine," says Aziraphale.  And then, secure in his victory, he adds, "You know, I can understand why humans might not want to give proper credit to a bird.  I do believe they're a little jealous.  You know how much they've always wanted to fly, since the very beginning."</p><p>"Oh, yeah.  Hey, remember Leonardo?  Really thought he might actually manage it."</p><p>"Yes, lovely man," says Aziraphale, but there's something weirdly tense about the way he says it.</p><p>Well, Crowley's hardly going to let that pass by.  "What?"</p><p>"I didn't say anything, Crowley."</p><p>Crowley gives him a look.  Aziraphale can never resist responding to that particular look.</p><p>It works this time, too.  "Only, well, you did spend a <i>great deal</i> of time with him."</p><p>"Angel!  Are you jealous?"  He finds the idea strangely delightful.</p><p>"Jealous?"  He's using his sputtery, doth-protest-too-much voice.  Oh, this is wonderful.  "Me?  Don't be absurd."</p><p>"You are!"  Utterly wonderful.</p><p>"I simply thought you shouldn't be encouraging him.  Heaven wasn't very happy with the idea of humans achieving the power of flight in those days.  It was thought to be somewhat hubristic."</p><p>Crowley is all but cackling with glee now.  "You were jealous!  I bet..."  Aziraphale makes a motion towards him, as if attempting to shush him, but he ignores it.  "I bet you thought about showing up on his doorstep with your wings out.  Swooping right in out of the air, showing off for him.  Make him envy <i>you</i>.  'Look at me, I can fly <i>without</i> any weird contraptions!'"</p><p>"I would never!"</p><p>"Nah, you wouldn't but you'd <i>think</i> about it, wouldn't you?"</p><p>Aziraphale goes oddly quiet for a moment.  </p><p>Shit.  Did he say something wrong?  What that too... too... too whatever-it-is-they-don't-do?  "Angel?"</p><p>"I may have thought about it," Aziraphale says, at last.  "Not because I was jealous of your company, although I may have been, a little, but because I wanted him to see it.  To see someone who at least looked human, flying.  He wanted it so very badly.  And you were very fond of him."</p><p>"Angel..."  But he doesn't know what else to say.</p><p>"Well," says Aziraphale, and his smile is a little forced, now, but kind.  "They did figure it out eventually, the humans."</p><p>"Yeah," he says, because he <i>still</i> doesn't know what to say.  "Yeah, they did."</p><p>Aziraphale's smile softens, melts into something more genuine.  "And so did we."</p><p>They're not talking about flying now, are they?  "Yeah," says Crowley again, this time because it seems like the right thing to say.  "We did, angel."</p><p>It's another one of those Moments.  This time, Crowley lets it be.  He doesn't want to interrupt it before it has the chance to develop into whatever happens next.</p><p>Ah, okay.  Apparently <i>this</i> is what happens next.  "We've never flown together," he says.</p><p>"We haven't."  Aziraphale's voice, he thinks, is quietly hopeful.</p><p>Crowley stands up and holds out his hand.  He wonders if he should be more surprised by how readily Aziraphale takes it.  "Come on then, pelican," he says.  "Shall we show the humans how it's done?"</p><p>Which is only a figure of speech, because the humans don't even look at them as they unfurl their wings.  No one notices them launching hand-in-hand into the sky, or dipping and soaring above the streets of London, because neither of them wants an audience.  This is just for them. Just the two of them.</p><p>Crowley won't say it, because it's hideously, embarrassingly cheesy, and cheesiness is Aziraphale's line, not his.  But he can't help thinking it, anyway, can't help waiting with warm, stupid anticipation for the angel to say the cheesy thing for him. </p><p>Aziraphale doesn't disappoint him. "Look at us," he says, as they settle to a landing on the bookshop roof.  "Birds of a feather!"  And he grins as if he's thought up the cleverest, most original joke in the history of the world. </p><p>Crowley groans, because he's supposed to.  And then, because nobody not currently standing on this roof gets to tell him what he is or isn't supposed to do anymore, he turns to Aziraphale, pulls him close, and folds his wings around him.</p><p>The angel presses against him, warm and soft and beautifully, enduringly <i>here</i>.  "Birds of a feather," he says again, his face buried in Crowley's shoulder, and this time there's nothing joking in his voice at all.  </p><p>Crowley knows what it means.  It means the same thing every word either of them has said to the other since the end of the world has meant, even the arguments.  Maybe especially the arguments.</p><p>"<i>Our side</i>," he agrees.</p><p>They hold each other there on the roof until the sun sets, watching the birds fly over the human city, neither of them needing to say anything else at all.</p>
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